Good Morning
by Dear Aunt Elladora
Summary: Ginny is less than thrilled by her day off, and even less by the fact she can't get to sleep. Just imagine how thrilled she is when Draco Malfoy enters.


At seven-thirty, I'm hardly conceious.

Every other day I'm at work by now, smiling and chipper and in loads better disposition than the sleep-crazed way I am now. So since my body clock has registered this in the category of awake time, and no matter that it's my day off, I'm wide -- well, perhaps not wide -- awake in the middle of the bloody kitchen. My hair's a wreck and my pajamas are a large tshirt, and I can't, for the life of me, find what I'm looking for.

Hermione's organized the damn shelves in the kitchen (again) in her truly obsessive compulsive manner and I'm more confused in what she calls order than what my family calls natural arrangement. Finally, my weary eyes register on the white plastic of the sleeping pills and I snatch them, knocking over a couple of randommedicene bottles in expiditing my prize from the shelf's depths.

Happy eyes scan over my precious, and I feel the need to cackle at my brilliance, or something slightly strange of that manner. I refrain, locking my hand over the top. It won't budge. I grip it tightly, pounding it into my palm and forcing it as hard as I can to one side. I curse the bottle aloud for it's stupid lid, then Hermione for buying these Muggle products, then my internal clock...

I'm halfway through blaming Ludo Bagman (because I've nearly blamed everyone I've ever met) for the stupid bottle when footsteps echo through the hall. I'm not deaf when I'm half asleep (even though my cognitive ability is pretty much dulled extensively), so I look up with my vice grip still on this stupid pill bottle.

Something doesn't fit, my dazed reasoning registers. It's seven something and everyone who lives in this dingy excuse for a house should be at work, except _me_ because my bloody mother didn't think it'd be a _good idea after last night,_ and somehow the fact that I'm standing here in a fairly indecent outfit and my eyes are kindof glazing in the exhaustion and Draco Malfoy is now standing in the threshold of the kitchen...

"Weasley," he grunts in this way that makes me want to grunt back. Or at least make a face, and I almost do but then remember how he always makes me want to do something innappropriate or immature. Or both. Usually both, especially this early.

There's this evil sort of glint in his eye that kindof lets me know he knows that he's the last person I want to see right now. There's always this glint in those freaking eyes of his and I narrow my eyebrows evillyat his back as he crosses the kitchen to get a mug.

"What are you doing awake?" he questions, and as a jet of steam shoots out his wand into the mug, the smell of coffee fills the room. Hmm, coffee... Ginny like...

As soon as the coffee smell wears off, I'm able to respond with the classic of: "I could ask you the same thing."

"It's not really my thing to sleep the day away. But since you're always talking about how little sleep you get, I figured I wouldn't see you til tomorrow. It is your day off," he slides his aristocratic little butt into the seat at the table.

"No thanks to you, getting me in so late," I bitterly retort.

"You are too addicted to your work, I swear. Just because I get you a day off, you're all bitter."

"I'm always bitter to you," I yawn quite beautifully, "and I am not addicted to my work. Why does everyone _say _that? Is it so inhumane to like my job?"

"Yes," he instantly answered my quasi-rhetorical question, "you're turning into Granger."

I shudder involuntarily at those words and he smirks. Damn smirk. Sometimes he does that stupid smirk and I just want to rip his gorgeous lips right off his face. Wait... did I just think Malfoy's lips were _gorgeous?_ Me without sleep has now become a dangerous thing.

"But don't you think," I prod him, "You could've _talked _to my mother, reasoned with her."

"Maybe if you hadn't held us up last night then we would've gotten home sooner."

My blood boils at his comment, angry adrenaline pounding the last bit of my wearniess out of concentration.How dare he say that! It was not my fault! My foot got stuck! He knew that too, snarky little bastard. I growl inside my head.

"Did you just... growl at me?" Malfoy questions, a startled look adorning his perfected features. Guess I didn't growl _inside _my head.

"No," I chortle maturely. _Oops..._

He pretty much ignores my statement to continue with the mainframe of conversation. It's a skill he's had to honefrom spending so much time with me (blech, not that it's pleased either of us) through service for the Order.

"Maybe if you weren't so clumsy to get your feet stuck in the first place, then --"

"Take that back!" I interject, pointing an accusing finger at him as I lean on the chair opposite his, the pill bottle lying forgotten on the counter. Seconds tick by until he chuckles darkly, hitting my hand down.

"Don't point, _Weasley,"_ he snarls, "it's not polite."

"Neither is calling me clumsy! Or not fighting with my mother to get me into the office, or comparing my work ethic to Hermione's! Or in the alley last night, after you helped me, when you kiss--"

"Why are you down here, Weasley?"

He has interrupted me, fed up with my babbling, and quite honestly that's a good thing, because at the rate I was going I was about to bring up subjectmatter both of us had wished to fry out of our memories. Of _course_ I hadn't wanted to remember any of that. Right. I'm fairly aware a faint blush is creeping up my neck as I choose a short, copout response.

"Couldn't sleep. Pills help."

"Master of the obvious. Couldn't you just use a sleeping spell or something rather than fool with that muggle remedey and interrupt my breakfast?"

"Because you know my intention is to spend more time with you," I say, words dripping with as muchsarcastic venom I can possibly muster.

"I learned when I was fourteen that spells when you're half-awake is never, ever a good thing," I add for good measure.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"If I knew," I scoff, "I'd fix it, trust me. Just ... can't. Bad dreams, tossing and turning and such. Usually wake up more tired than if I'd just stayed awake."

"The logic behind that's amazing."

"You can't say anything, Mr. Coffeemate."

He toys with the handle of his coffee mug, removing his eyes from mine for the first time since I crossed the room.

"Are you okay?" I can't help the words from falling from my tongue, this voice of concern from my supreme hatred, "Last night, it was bad, I know..." I trail off, waiting for him to speak.

"The Zambini's. Pansy. Blaise. Sometimes it's so hard, yanno, being for _this side,_ spying, betraying everything I've ever done. Lying," I soak up his words, seeing this rare emotional response from this icy cold partner in crime of mine. I almost feel sorry for him -- but it's Malfoy, that phrase has beenrepeating in my thoughts alot more lately, growing more insistant every time.

"Yeah, I kinda figured, when you start running away from me inthat alley.That isn'ttypically a sign you're doing alright. Or, obviously, a good sign for my balance to chase after you."

"Sorry about that," he says, fingeringachip in the mug that I distantly remember putting there, probably after throwing it in this blond's direction. After a couple silent minutes, he speaks up again.

"So I guess it was my fault your foot got stuck?"

"Guess so," I responded, looking down at him, wishing he'd look back. He doesn't.

The silence isfrustrating, and I can't help but craving the vulnerable Draco I saw last night. His silver eyes shone with emotions mixed to unreadable, mainly because they are so typically vacant. For a fleeting second, he appeared like he was actually hurt, but in his life of being heartless but just couldn't manage it. He looked ... human. Now he's just this emotionless informant he wants to be, keeping his eyes off mine and his feelings back to well-hidden.

I want him to push me like he did last night:he shovedme with his anger at my clumsiness masking his pain of the night,making my back ache as it came in harsh contact with the cold, dampened wall.Then,dropping his face so close to mine that I shivered from his angry tones,I could smell his prescense and feel his bodyheat on me in the after-rain cold.

But he ran away, my heart sinks at the end of the memory, he ran away then and he's running away now. I feel drained from reliving the memory, weary from the heavy silence thick over the kitchen.

He stands up. My eyes follow his figure as he heads to the counter, opening the pill bottle with ease. I want to curse him, but I don't. I look away instead, biting my thumbnail with my eyes dazed elsewhere as he comes toward me. There's a white pill in his palm that I take wordlessly, rolling it between my hands.

"Sweet dreams, Weasley."

He says simply and I look up at him (for he tops me at least a foot) with doe-eyes, the virgin eyes I try to mask everyday. He's not moving; I'm not moving. Everything's still in this moment where my eyes are stuck on his and I just can't bugde. There's this in my hand that can take me away from this moment, coffee and logic on the other side of the table that could take him away.

He initiates the kiss because I know I would never be able to do it. Last night, his kiss was laced with this carnal need and hard emotion, and now it's softer. Lighter,yet loosing absolutely none of the intensity. The other thought that is registering is that I'm kissing back, and it's ... amazing. If I had known in the beginning that kissing Draco Malfoy was going to be like this, we'd have spent alot less time arguing.

At seven fifty, I'm not only conceious- I'm hyper aware of this man with his lips smouldering mine.

* * *

**notes --** I have been overtaken by an incredibly disgusting writer's block. This is an old file I found, and with much tweaking am now posting. I hope you all e-n-j-o-y. Been ages since I've done D&G, good to know the pairing is still gloooorioooussss.

Alright, standard plugging -- if you liked this, check out some of my other stuf: littered with bickering diolauge, the Black family, fun (albeit slightly random) pairings, and characters with a tendency to ramble. Or maybe that's me.

**Reviews make me feel warm and snuggly and other yummy things**.

love is best with d&g


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